Love
by actingwithportals
Summary: Day four of my thirty-one day writing challenge. He may not have had a family or a nickel to his name, but Jack Kelly had people who loved him, and that was more valuable than anything money could buy.


Jack held up the small package, hands trembling slightly and legs feeling wobbly. He felt terrible, absolutely terrible. He had spent hours working on it, but still didn't feel satisfied with the finished product at all. She deserved more than this, so much more. He had wanted to give her something beautiful, but didn't even have enough change in his pockets for a small trinket. All he had was some paints and a canvas, not even bought with his own money but lent to him by her. It wasn't right. Medda deserved the world, yet all she had was Jack.

Gingerly, Medda took the package out of his hands, looking it over. "And what is this?" she asked, smiling down at him in that warm way she always did when seeing him. Jack shuffled his feet, looking down, not wanting to have to meet her eyes. He was so disappointed in himself, but he couldn't give her nothing, not on her special day.

"It's a present," he mumbled, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"For me? Jack, you shouldn't have," she exclaimed, ruffling his hair.

Jack smiled slightly, but it didn't meet his eyes. "It ain't much," he admitted. "I wanted to get you something real nice, but . . . I couldn't afford nothing."

Medda gave him another kind smile. "I'm sure whatever it is it's beautiful," she assured him.

"Are you gonna open it?" Jack asked.

"Here?" Medda questioned, looking around the theatre. They were standing by the backstage door, Jack having just popped in to see her show that was going to be running that night. Medda was in the middle of getting ready when she heard him knocking, quickly rushing to the door to let him inside.

Jack nodded eagerly. "I want to see your reaction when you see it," he explained.

Medda nodded her head. "Alright," she said, pulling apart the paper from the package carefully, opening it to reveal the canvas. It was a painting of a yellow bird, one Medda recognized as a Meadowlark.

"I found a picture of it in some old book," Jack explained. "It looked like something you would like, I thought."

"Jack, it's absolutely beautiful," Medda said, pulling him in for a hug.

Jack hugged her back, feeling a slight warmth in his chest. "Sorry it was all I could get you; you deserve more on your birthday than just some silly painting."

"Silly painting?" Medda asked. "You call this a silly painting? If that's the case I'd love to see some of your serious ones."

Jack shrugged. "They ain't much better than this."

"Jack honey, why don't you sit down for a moment," Medda said, moving over to the stairs and taking a seat on one of the steps, patting the space beside her.

"Don't you got to get ready for the show?" Jack asked.

"The show can wait, it's my birthday and I want to talk to my favorite little artist," Medda said, patting the space beside her again. "Sit, sit."

Jack complied, taking a seat on the steps next to her.

"Now, what's bothering you, sweetie?" she asked, a concerned look in her eyes.

"Nothing," Jack lied, not meeting her eyes.

"Nothing? Are you sure?" Medda asked, gently touching his chin and turning his face so that he was looking at her.

Jack nodded. "Ain't nothing bothering me," he assured her.

"Jack, you know you can tell me anything, right?" Medda let him know.

Jack was quiet, looking back down at his feet. He absentmindedly rubbed the tip of his shoe along the floor, wishing he could melt into it.

"Sweetie, what is it?" Medda coaxed, putting an arm around his shoulders.

Jack shrugged. "I don't know, I'se just upset I couldn't find you nothing better, I guess."

"And why's that?" Medda asked. "Do you not think your paintings are good enough for me?"

"What are you going to do with a lousy painting?" Jack asked.

"Oh, I don't know," Medda started. "I just might hang it up in my room to brighten up the place. I'll get up every morning and see it, and remember the very special person who made it for me. It'll brighten my day every day that I see it, which will be every day that I wake."

"But wouldn't you have liked something nicer?" Jack asked. "Like jewelry or something?"

"Honey, have you seen my dressing room?" Medda questioned. "I've got plenty of jewelry to last me for years. Now, original paintings by my favorite artist? I'll never have enough of those."

"But you lent me the stuff to make the painting," Jack argued. "I couldn't even afford my own canvas and paints."

"So?" Medda asked. "You've got enough on your plate to worry about without thinking about paying for art supplies. With all the painting you do for me and my theatre, a few canvases and bottles of paint here and there are nothing to worry about."

Jack frowned. "I just think you deserve better than what I can offer."

"Jack, look at me," Medda instructed.

Jack reluctantly looked up at her, Medda putting her hands on his cheeks.

"You are so much more valuable than anything money can buy," she told him. "And the fact that I get to know you is more than I deserve. You're an incredible person, Jack Kelly, and how much money you have in your pockets doesn't change that."

"But-" Jack started.

"No buts," Medda interrupted. "You are more valuable than you know, and that is final."

Jack gave her a small smile, not sure if he believed her words, but appreciating them nonetheless. "You know, you'se the closest thing I got to a family, Medda," Jack admitted. "Thank you."

Medda pulled him into another tight hug. "Anytime sweetie," she said. "I love you."

"I love you too," Jack responded, hugging her back.

He may not have had a real family, or a nickel to his name, but he had something better. He had people who loved him, and that was more valuable than anything money could ever buy.


End file.
